Never Doubt I Love
by westwingnut221
Summary: What if John Thornton had been JUST a bit later as he walked past Outwood Station that night?
1. Chapter 1

"**Never Doubt I Love"**

**Author's Note: This is my first North & South fanfiction and I'm a little nervous! I owe MANY thanks to Mere24 for her feedback, input, tweaking, and for the original inspiration that is her delicious ginger biscuits. You should go and read her story "The Sum of All Wisdom" right now. It's fantastic.**

**Disclaimer: These characters belong to Elizabeth Gaskell. If they belonged to me… well, the things I would do to John Thornton shouldn't be mentioned in public.**

**Chapter One**

"Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move his aides, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love."

_Hamlet_ – Act 2, Scene 2

Returning home after another tedious dinner party, John Thornton was looking forward to a leisurely brandy before taking himself to bed. The dinner had been another gathering of his fellow mill owners, this time discussing recovery after the strike. After a certain point, John had just tuned out the nattering around him and nodded occasionally.

He was passing by Outwood Station when he heard something odd.

"Hale!"

The name of his tutor and of his temptress would always catch his attention. His head whipped around only to see some ruffian pushing aside Miss Hale to accost the young man she was with. It was he that was being referred to as "Hale," rather than the woman John was used to attaching to that name. But that was for another time.

Just the sight of this scoundrel laying a hand on Miss Hale made Thornton see red. He ran forward to make his displeasure known when Margaret's companion gave a shove and tipped the tormenter down the stairs. John followed down the stairs, possibly to ensure the man left and maybe to make sure he left with a limp. He hauled the disheveled rake to his feet and got in his face, despite the reek of alcohol on the reprobate's breath. "I believe you laid a hand on Miss Hale." His grip tightened. "If you ever do so again, I shall make certain you regret it."

Leonards, for that was his name, scoffed. "She deserved whatever she got for hiding that fugitive of a brother from the police! 'Sides, she's only a preacher's daughter."

All the color left Leonards face then, for he found himself facing the very devil. If the devil wore an impeccably cut suit and had blue eyes that had gone as cold as ice. Thornton's voice, when it came, was lower and even more dangerous than before. "You really shouldn't have said that." A grin broke out on Thornton's face then, which Leonards found even more terrifying than the scowl had been. It was a grin free of humor and promising pain. The pain was delivered via a well-aimed fist into Leonards face. The blood poured from his broken nose almost immediately. Eventually, intelligence has to break through to even the stupidest of men and Leonards beat a hasty retreat.

It was only then that something he'd said clicked in John Thornton's mind. "Brother?"

He returned to the platform and Miss Hale to see the train vanishing in the distance. "Miss Hale, are you all right?"

Margaret turned, stunned. "Oh, yes, Mr. Thornton. I'm fine." She peeked over his shoulder. "Is he-?"

"He's gone." He assured her. Silence stretched between them. "That… man… said that your… companion… is your brother?"

Margaret paled visibly. "Yes. Yes, he is." She had two choices in that moment. She could tell Mr. Thornton the whole scandalous story and trust that he would protect her and her family. Or she could keep the sordid thing secret and possibly alienate him forever. After the kindness he had shown her mother over the last few days, she felt she owed him something and, somehow, the idea of alienating him forever had become distasteful to her. She would trust him.

As she spoke, John Thornton's face stayed implacable. No trace of emotion passed over his features. When she was done telling all, the only thing he said was "I see." He then turned and stepped a few paces away, clearly processing everything he had heard. "And this is the visitor who was at your house the other day?"

"Yes." She spoke to the back of his head. "We were trying to keep his visit quiet, so he wouldn't get caught—"

John held up a hand. "I understand completely, Miss Hale." He turned back to face her again. "You may be assured of my discretion."

She examined her hands. "I never doubted it, sir, but we had no wish to put you in a difficult position as magistrate. I believe that's why my father never spoke of Fred to you before."

Thornton shook his head. That fact hadn't even occurred to him. "Please, Miss Hale, allow me to walk you home. It's quite late."

"Yes, thank you, sir."

They pointed their heads to Crampton and walked quietly, but companionably for a few minutes. Soon, John felt that he needed to express his condolences. "I was very sorry to hear about your mother."

A very quiet "Thank you, sir" met his ears.

"How is your father?"

"As well as can be expected. He's taken it quite hard."

"If there is anything at all you need, you can be sure my mother and I will do all we can to help."

"Be sure I will let you know." A few more silent steps. "You might—"

"Yes?"

Margaret turned to him with a shimmer of hope in her eyes. "If you were to return to your lessons with him, it might do a great deal towards distracting him and helping him back to normality. He does enjoy your company so much."

A genuine smile appeared on John's lips and Margaret was astonished to notice how exceedingly handsome he was. Such a small thing as a smile and it gave him an entirely new face. He spoke, "Of course, I'll be sure to do so as soon as the funeral is over."

She nodded. "He'll be glad." As they approached her front door, she turned to him again. "I want to thank you for your assistance tonight, Mr. Thornton. Getting Frederick out of the country has become a great concern for my father and me. I'll breathe deeply once he's back in Spain again."

"Well, then I wish him a speedy journey. And now I should bid you good night, Miss Hale." And he tipped his hat in farewell.

"Won't you shake my hand, Mr. Thornton?"

He stopped in his tracks and turned back to her. "Gladly, Miss Hale." John took her small hand in his and couldn't help but notice how warm her grasp was. He smiled gently at her and started his walk home with a lighter step and a spark of hope in his heart.

Margaret took herself to bed thinking some of the man she had put on the train, but even more of the man who had escorted her home and just how honorable he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: THANK YOU all so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm touched by the response I got to the first chapter and, yes, there is much more to come! Also, this story is based on some book/film adaptation hybrid that lives only in my head and in this story.**

**Disclaimer: They're still not mine, sadly.**

Chapter Two

Dixon sobbed into her handkerchief and Margaret sighed to herself as she sat back in the church pew. Mr. Bell put a consoling hand on hers.

Mr. Thornton turned at hearing Margaret's exhalation. She looked tired, he thought, and yet she's still beautiful, his love-sick heart added. She had circles under her eyes she'd tried to disguise, but he could tell she was not sleeping well. He longed to reassure her and tell her all would be well. It was his turn to sigh. He longed for a good many things.

The preacher dismissed them and the few mourners made their way out into the tepid sunshine.

John approached Mr. Hale next to Margaret and Mr. Bell. "You have my greatest sympathies, Mr. Hale."

The gentleman smiled vaguely at his pupil. "Thank you, John."

"I realize this isn't the best time, Mr. Hale, but I was wondering if I might return to my lessons with you this week. I've been missing our discussion of Plato." He sent a sideways smile to Margaret who nodded encouragement.

"Oh, John, I'm not sure—"

"Come, Papa," Margaret interjected. "I think it's an excellent idea. You've enjoyed your evenings with Mr. Thornton so much in the past. I believe it would be good for you."

Mr. Bell eyed the couple urging his old friend and raised a perceptive eyebrow. "Quite right, Hale. A little intellectual debate would be just the thing for you."

"Perhaps you're right. Very well, John. Thursday?"

"Thursday." He tipped his hat and acknowledged Margaret's grateful smile with a nod. "If you'll excuse me." But Mr. Thornton hadn't taken more than four steps when the sound of his name stopped him. He turned to see Mason, the policeman, greeting him.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but seeing as you're the local magistrate…"

"He was found along the station embankment and died in hospital this morning. We're trying to find out how he died."

Oh, God. It was him, the ruffian from the train station.

"There was a witness, a local grocer, who spotted an altercation between this man and another man and woman."

Mr. Thornton was doing some very fast thinking since the truth was out of the question.

"Was this witness able to identify the other man? Or the woman?"

"All he was able to say about the man was that he was tall. He thought the woman might have been Miss Hale."

John was careful to school his face to betray nothing. "Well, Mason, the woman _was_ Miss Hale, but the man in question was myself. I was escorting Miss Hale home – in my role as magistrate, of course – and we were accosted by this man. He was quite drunk and the situation required that I use some force to encourage him to leave us alone. He staggered off and that was the last I saw of him.

Mason nodded and closed his notebook. "Very good, sir. He was clearly unwell. I don't believe we need to hold an inquest."

"Neither do I. Well done, Mason." Thornton shook his hand.

"Thank you, sir."

John was thrilled to close his ledgers and cap his ink bottle on Thursday afternoon. The aftermath of the strike was taking all his attention lately and the outlook was not very promising. His evening at the Hale's was a welcome interlude.

After changing and bidding his mother not to wait up for him (she would anyway), he retrieved his books and enthusiastically walked to Crampton.

Dixon answered his knock and escorted him to the sitting room just as Margaret was pouring the tea for her father.

"Ah, John, good evening. Would you like a cup?"

Mr. Hale seemed in much better spirits this evening and Mr. Thornton was glad of it. "Yes, please, if Miss Hale would oblige." John was also pleased to see that Margaret looked much improved as well.

She nodded and crossed to pour him one. John stopped her midway with an outstretched hand. She smiled and shook it.

"I trust you are well this evening, Miss Hale?"

"Quite well, thank you, Mr. Thornton. Would you care for any milk or sugar in your tea?"

"Both, please."

A hint of rose touched Margaret's cheeks as their fingers brushed and John's heart stuttered in his chest.

Mr. Hale cleared his throat and broached the subject of Plato and the allegory of the cave.

Margaret tried to recall that particular story. Ah yes, a man's inside a dark cave. The stone statues surrounding him are distorted by shadow. His imagination and perceptions make them into terrifying creatures, but as he comes out of the cave and into the sun, he sees the statues for what they really are. As he sees more of the world outside the cave, he gains knowledge of just how wrong he was about the statues.

Mr. Hale and Mr. Thornton were discussing whether or not the tale could be applied to modern day life.

Margaret said, "Well, it's me and my original reaction to Milton, isn't it?"

Both men stopped and stared at her.

She elaborated. "At first, Milton was distorted by my previous life in Helstone and by my initial observations of the place. But as I lived here and got to know the people and how the town sees itself and its business, I gained an appreciation for it and saw how prejudiced I was at the beginning."

Both men looked stunned. Mr. Hale recovered first. "Quite so, Margaret. Well done."

Mr. Thornton nodded. He felt he'd been given a gift, an insight into the woman he'd first met so unfortunately all those months ago. "And what of Plato's views on justice, Miss Hale?"

"Well…"

The evening progressed through two pots of tea and a vociferous and heated debate between all three of them. None could remember the last time they'd enjoyed themselves as much. It seemed they took turns siding with each other. It was always two to one, but it varied as to who was left to debate their side alone. It always gave John a bit of a thrill when Margaret took his side.

Hours later, John realized just how late it was. "I should be going. It's quite late."

"Thank you for coming tonight, John. Will you come again on Tuesday?" Mr. Hale rose to shake his hand.

"Yes, of course. I should very much like that."

Margaret rose as well.

"I'll see you out, Mr. Thornton."

She retrieved his hat and met him in the hall. "I thank you for coming tonight as well, Mr. Thornton. Father has been looking forward to it all day."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Hale. I'm glad to see his spirits improved."

"As am I. Please send my good wishes to your mother and sister."

"I will." He paused and lowered his voice a bit. "I should tell you that the police found that man from the station dead the other day."

"Oh, God! Did—"

"No, he was only found ill. He died in hospital. There was a witness who saw the altercation, though."

"Then Frederick—"

"Not to worry, Miss Hale. All they saw were two men and a woman. I have suggested that I was the other man, which is not, strictly speaking, a lie since I _was_ there."

"But the gossip! Surely—"

"A magistrate seeing a young woman safely home? No, Miss Hale, we're quite safe."

Margaret was relieved. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Thornton's good deed to lead to scandal. "And Leonards?"

"The man was in very bad shape already. It has been ruled an accidental death. It's done."

She smiled at the man who had saved her yet again and held out her hand to him.

The corner of his mouth quirked and he took her hand in his. Margaret wondered that his eyes could be so blue.

Without letting go of his hand she said, "I have a pair of your gloves, you know."

His brow furrowed. "You do?"

"You left them here… that day."

Mr. Thornton was pleased that he could hear her mention "that day" and not feel a pang of anguish.

"I didn't quite know how to get them back to you. I suppose you have a new pair now."

"I do, yes, but I'm glad to know where I left them. I wondered at my sanity for a while." Margaret grinned at him and his knees wavered ever-so-slightly. He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll see you on Tuesday, Miss Hale."

He finally relinquished her hand.

"Until then, Mr. Thornton. Good night."

"Good night, Miss Hale."

A part of John Thornton wondered if "that day" were to happen now if she would answer differently than she did then. With the state of Marlborough Mills at the moment, he was in no place to ask her. He slid his new gloves on his hands and returned to his ledgers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Did I mention that Mere24 is the best? Well, I'll mention it again, because she is. Thanks again for the lovely reviews and for all the favorites and follows! I'm touched. A hearty welcome in this chapter for Battle Axe Thornton!**

**Disclaimer: They actually are mine. I am the reincarnation of Elizabeth Gaskell come back from the dead to publish fanfiction on the interwebs. Wait… no, I'm not.**

Chapter Three

In Margaret's mind and, though she did not know it, in John's too, Tuesday took entirely too long to come around. Fanny kept nattering on and on about her wedding preparations, and John was preoccupied with the question of whether to speculate or not to speculate.

It went against every fiber of his being to do so, but it could fix _everything_. Now that he and Margaret were on better terms and getting along quite nicely, he had hoped that perhaps—

But his finances didn't leave room for such _luxury_ right now.

The money from the speculation could fix that as well.

He thought back to Fanny telling him yesterday that Miss Hale told her he would never speculate. Fanny had been so shocked, but Miss Hale knew him better than his own sister did.

He shook his head. He just couldn't risk it, let alone with _other men's_ money. He'd been going in the same circle for days.

John had had a brief distraction on the previous Friday when Nicholas Higgins had come to ask him for a job "at Miss Hale's suggestion." John knew the man was a hard worker and knew he'd had nothing to do with the riot that had put Margaret in such danger. If Higgins had not had Margaret backing him, John probably would have sent him packing. As it was, he made it very clear that there was to be work and only work. John had an inkling that Higgins story about Boucher's orphans was the truth. He himself never could have taken in the orphans of a man such as Boucher.

John caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Higgins guiding a young boy out the gate and down the street towards home.

A quick glance at the clock told him he'd have to rush to get to the Hale's house on time.

Margaret put the kettle on and looked at the clock for the tenth time in the last hour alone. This was getting ridiculous.

She'd finally admitted to herself that she was quite looking forward to their evening with Mr. Thornton. She hoped their discussion was as invigorating as it had been previously. Margaret had most enjoyed the way his eyes lit up and his hands gracefully joined as he spoke about something he was passionate about.

The doorbell rang and she filled up the teapot with the now hot water.

She couldn't help the smile on her face as she carried the tea tray into the sitting room. Her father was rifling through his books as Mr. Thornton set his own down on the table.

"Good evening, Mr. Thornton."

"Good evening, Miss Hale."

They shook hands, as was their custom now, and smiled at each other.

"I trust your mother and sister are well?"

"Quite well, thank you, Miss Hale. Preparations for Fanny's wedding are progressing. I should also tell you that your friend Higgins came to see me for a job the other day. I've agreed to take him on."

Delight lit her face like the morning sun. "Oh, that's wonderful news! I'm so grateful to you, Mr. Thornton. He was thinking of going south and I don't think it would have suited him at all."

Surprise had his eyebrows meeting his hairline. "Oh? And why is that?"

"The at ease and lax ways of the south would have sent him mad in no time. No, the drive and bustle of the north suit him much better. He belongs here in Milton."

John's voice, when it came, was filled with warmth and was a trifle uneven. "I'm very glad to hear that your opinion of Milton and the north has improved so greatly, Miss Hale."

She blushed and turned to pour his tea. As she turned back and passed it to him, she said, "I've learned a great deal since I came here."

He lowered his eyes and sipped. "As have I."

Mr. Hale thought this was an appropriate time to intervene, although he was quite pleased with the direction things were headed with his favorite pupil and his daughter. Nothing would make him happier than to see them together.

"Shall we continue with Plato tonight? I thought we might discuss his theory of split-aparts."

"Utter rubbish." Margaret said from pouring her father's tea. "The very idea that we're missing our other half, that we were split apart from them and can't rest until we've found them? No, I can't believe that."

"And why not, Margaret?"

"What about people who never find theirs? Are they doomed to be alone all their lives? What about someone whose 'other half' dies? Does that mean they'll never find another? And if you find this long-lost other half, how do you know? What if you pass them on the street and never know what you missed?" She passed her father his cup and poured her own.

"But, Miss Hale, that's part of Plato's point. If you meet your split-apart on the street, you're inexorably drawn to them. There's an instant connection and bond that forms. The theory is that when you meet them, it feels like nothing you've ever felt before and that's how you know." John couldn't help but think of the day when he'd first seen her, amidst the billowing cotton fluff with fury in his eyes and blood on his knuckles. Still, his heart had jumped in his chest and everything he'd been before had altered, ever-so-slightly.

Mr. Hale spoke up. "I rather like the idea of it. You can spend your uncertain youth knowing that somewhere out there is that one person you're meant to be with. I was lucky enough to find mine."

Margaret laid a reassuring hand on his and squeezed. "Not all of us can be as lucky as you were, Papa."

Their discussion turned to safer subjects and the hours passed quickly.

Once again, Margaret handed John his hat as they stood in the hall way.

Mr. Thornton was debating with himself on the wisdom of what his heart was bidding him to do. After a few moments of silence, he conceded defeat.

"Miss Hale… would you do me the honor of accompanying me to my sister's wedding?"

Margaret met his eyes and saw such hope and nervousness in his face that she almost didn't recognize the intimidating and terrorizing Master of Marlborough Mills.

A shy smile crossed her face. "I would be most pleased to, Sir."

A grin of utter delight passed over his own. "I am quite glad." He nodded his head. "Yes, quite glad." He cleared his throat, trying to rid it of the lump that had somehow formed in the last few minutes. "Well, I'll bid you a good night, Miss Hale."

"And to you as well, Mr. Thornton."

His mother was incensed. "You what?!"

"You heard me perfectly well, Mother."

Mrs. Thornton paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. "You've asked Miss Hale to accompany you to Fanny's wedding when you aren't in a position to propose to her? And a woman who _rejected_ you the last time you did!"

John closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch. "I know, Mother. But we've both changed since then. We understand each other better. We actually _know_ each other now."

She stood and glared down at him. "And what about our current predicament? If you don't mean to speculate—"

"And I don't."

"Well, then—"

"Mother, she's coming with me to the wedding. There will be the ceremony, dinner, and possibly some dancing. I'm not taking her to pick out rings!"

"John." The soft utterance of his name was more rebuke than if she'd raised her voice.

He took two deep breaths. "I'm sorry. I realize perfectly well-exactly and precisely-how the situation at the Mill affects everything else." He stood up and took her hands in his. "But, Mother, if this is as close as I'm to get to having Miss Hale as my wife, then please let me enjoy this _one day_ of having her on my arm." His voice and hands shook the tiniest bit as he finished, and her heart broke for him.

She nodded her head.

"Very well."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Even more reviews, favorites, and follows! Hooray! And more to come, more to come. It has been decided that Mere, my bad-ass beta, is, in fact, the shit. And she wields a mean sewing machine.**

**I took notes for this chapter (and the following ones) on the side of a McDonald's bag as I marathoned the miniseries a week ago. I better find a job soon, or I need to start going to the gym… you know what, I need both. And you guys don't care, except for the fact that I have LOTS of time to write.**

**Also, I spilled some champagne on my keyboard and now the apostrophe won't work. I'll do my best to catch them all, but just in case: sorry.**

**Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, except in my dreams. In fact, I had this dream the other night where Richard Armitage… never mind, forget I said anything.**

Chapter Four

Nicholas Higgins put down his spoon and glanced across the table at Thornton. For a man who had made his life harder for so long, Thornton was actually a good man. Nicholas had been gob smacked when Thornton had suggested this kitchen for his workers. The burly union man wondered if the change in the master had anything to do with Margaret.

Thornton put his spoon down too. "Be sure to tell your daughter how good this was today, Higgins."

"I will, sir. She'll be glad to hear it. How are plans moving along for Miss Thornton's wedding?"

Higgins smirked when Thornton caught himself rolling his eyes and stopped. "As one would expect."

Higgins glanced over surreptitiously, "Miss Hale tells me that she's to accompany you to the wedding."

A warmth filled Thornton's eyes that Higgins had only seen once or twice before, but always when Margaret was mentioned. "Yes, she is."

"Thomas and I had dinner at her house the other night and she seemed to be surprised that the two of us are getting on together. Or at least that there hasn't been bloodshed yet."

"I'm rather surprised at it myself. How's Thomas' reading going?"

Higgins grinned. "By leaps and bounds. I'm very proud of him."

"And so you should be." Thornton rolled his shoulders and rose. "I must get back to my desk."

Higgins lowered his voice. "Are things that bad?"

Thornton's brows shot up. Did he trust this man that much? Would telling him change anything at all? The answers were "yes" and "no", in that order. He sat back down on the rough bench. "Yes, they are. I'm still trying to find more investors and such, but as we stand, it's only a matter of time."

Higgins sighed.

Thornton smiled sympathetically. "We've still some months left. Who knows, maybe a miracle will happen." He stood and strode back out into the snow.

Margaret was quite pleased. She had pulled out the dress that she'd worn to the Thornton's dinner party and was glad to find it suitable for Miss Thornton's wedding. She would have Dixon give it a good ironing and she wouldn't be ashamed at all to be seen in it, and to be seen in it on Mr. Thornton's arm was even better.

She flushed at the thought. Would he wear the same waistcoat and cravat that he'd worn for the dinner? _Surely not_, she thought. Mrs. Thornton would see to it that he had new things for his sister's wedding. Maybe they would be blue to match his eyes. The same color of blue that Milton's skies seemed to be after a cleansing rain storm washed away the smoke.

Margaret shook herself out of her reverie and went to get her shawl. She was going to be late.

Mary Higgins greeted Margaret with a relieved look. She could manage just fine running the kitchen on her own, but it was just easier with an extra set of hands now and then.

"All right, Mary, put me to work. What can I do?"

Mary set Margaret to chopping potatoes, onions, and carrots for the evening stew she was putting together. They spent the next few hours happily chatting and preparing food. Mary told her stories of growing up with Bessie and Margaret told tales of Helstone and Edith. Their conversation may have known no end had it not been for the bell—the signal for dinner and fair warning for Margaret and Mary to prepare themselves for a throng of hungry workers , Nicholas came in and grinned at finding his two favorite women working hard together and enjoying each other's company. "Well, if this isn't a sight for sore eyes."

"Hello, Nicholas."

"Miss Margaret, how are you today?"

"Quite well, thank you. And you?"

"Can't complain."He turned to Mary, "What's for dinner, lass?"

"Stew."

"I should call Thornton back in. He loves your stew."

Margaret said, "Back in?" unable to keep her curiosity at bay.

"Aye, he was here for lunch today, and then went back to his books." Higgins' tongue slipped into his cheek as he said, "Perhaps _you_ should go tell him, Miss Margaret."

Margaret narrowed her eyes at him, but wasn't one to cower from a challenge. "All right," she said, as she rose to her feet. "I will."

After Margaret had slipped outside, Mary turned to her father. "What are you doing, Da?"

Nicholas' face was the picture of innocence as he said, "What do you mean, lass?"

Margaret eased her way through the now-familiar sorting room and up the stairs to Mr. Thornton's office. His manager nodded to her and she smiled and nodded in return.

At her gentle tap on his door, she heard his baritone respond, "Come in."

She had never been in his office as he was working before and she was intrigued by the piles of paperwork and ledgers that covered the expanse of his desk. He hadn't looked up yet, but she couldn't fail to notice that his jacket was across the back of his chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms. He swiftly raced his quill across the paper in front of him, dotted an i, crossed a t, and finally looked up to see who his visitor was.

"Miss Hale!" Never had she seen him this surprised before either.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton." She wasn't quite able to keep the smile off her face.

"Uh… is something wrong? Your father?" She could see the concern in his face as he rose and reached for his jacket.

"No, nothing is wrong and Father is just fine. It is only that, I've been helping Mary in the kitchen and she's made stew for this evening. Nicholas said it was one of your favorites and perhaps you might like to know."

John breathed out in relief, realized he'd put his jacket on over his rolled up sleeves, and took it off again to remedy the situation.

Margaret watched carefully, and a little sadly, as the white cotton sleeves concealed his lithe forearms. The well-formed muscles in his shoulders stretched his shirt as he slipped the jacket back across them, and an unfamiliar tension filled Margaret's abdomen.

Unaware of the titter he was causing, John thought that he really should stay and work some more, but he did need to eat… and Margaret was here and looking at him in that way she had been lately. It made him vaguely light-headed and gave him a hope he didn't feel he deserved.

"Yes, it is one of my favorites. I believe I will come and have some."

She smiled and preceded him out of the office. His office manager watched Mr. Thornton and Miss Hale descend the stairs in shock. Two meals in one day! This was unprecedented.

Margaret noticed that Nicholas looked not-at-all surprised when she came back through the kitchen door with Mr. Thornton on her heels. He smirked and she shook her head.

"Ah, Master, I knew Mary's stew would lure you back here today."

John thought to himself that it had only a tiny bit to do with the stew and more to do with his dinner companion, but he thought Higgins knew that perfectly well too.

Mary dished a helping for Mr. Thornton, Margaret, and her father. As they dug in, she turned to dish more for other hungry workers flooding into the building.

They were quiet as they ate, which was perfectly fine with all three of them. Margaret noticed that the workers who came in took note of their Master in their presence, but didn't seem to feel any awkwardness. Nor did Mr. Thornton seem to feel strange eating a meal amidst his employees. From what Nicholas had said, Margaret took it to be a fairly common occurrence. Just when she thought she had him cubby-holed, he'd do something like start a kitchen to cheaply feed his workers.

Now that he had his coat back on and his attention focused on his stew, she noticed that he had rather dark circles under his eyes. She knew the strike had been hard on Marlborough Mills, but if he was getting so little sleep, maybe it was worse than she thought. Maybe her father would be able to tell her.

Margaret felt an almost uncontrollable urge to take care of Mr. Thornton, although, she supposed, she had helped to feed him tonight. She wanted to tuck him into bed with a cozy fire and a warm cup of tea. She wanted to reach over and stroke back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. The late winter sun struggled through the door and windows, but managed to catch his face in such a way as to make his eyes transparent blue. As he met her glance and the corner of his mouth rose in her direction, it hit her.

Somewhere along the way; despite their meeting, and the riot, and her brother, and her mother's death; she had fallen rather desperately in love with this man. This man who had started as a representation of everything she scorned in the north, had become the personification of everything she wanted in a man. He was intelligent and passionate about his work and his philosophy and even the books he read. He was loyal to his family and dedicated enough to his workers that he wouldn't risk their money in a speculation. The wave of realization and emotion caught her up and stole her breath. Mr. Thornton noticed her quiet gasp and reached a hand towards her. "Are you quite all right, Miss Hale?"

Margaret took a couple of deep breaths and steadied her nerves. "Quite all right, thank you, Mr. Thornton."

He wasn't so sure. He had watched _something_ pass over her face. He had an idea that something had changed, but he didn't know what and whether it was better or worse and for whom.

John had finished his stew without even noticing it. "I'm sorry to abandon you, Miss Hale, but I really should be back to my work now."

"I quite understand, Mr. Thornton. I won't feel slighted at all. I will tell you that I'm greatly looking forward to Miss Thornton's wedding."

He rose and took her hand. "As am I. Good evening, Miss Hale. Higgins." He called across the room. "Your stew was delicious tonight, Miss Higgins. Thank you."

She bobbed him a little curtsey and reddened at the attention.

He swept out, already with his mind back on figures and tallies.

Nicholas thought Margaret looked a little out of sorts. "Are you sure you're all right, Miss Margaret? Maybe I should see you home."

She stood up abruptly. "Don't be silly, Nicholas. You're not done working for the day. I'll be fine. I just need a walk before I head home. I've been stuck inside all day." _And I could use some time to think._

"Well, if you're sure."

"I am." She squeezed his shoulder and crossed to Mary. "Thank you for dinner, Mary."

"No, miss, thank _you_ for all your help today."

"It was my pleasure, Mary."

Margaret waved to Nicholas, retrieved her shawl, and took the long way home. The walk may have cleared her head a bit, but she was still in love with Mr. Thornton when she got home. If only she knew when he proposed what would—but no, that would do her no good now.

For now, she'd just have to look forward to a wedding.

Mrs. Thornton found her son asleep at his desk late that night. She wrapped her shawl around his shoulder s and turned down the lamp on his desk. His hair had fallen over his forehead and she tenderly brushed it back.

He was working so hard. If his dedication and will power could save the mill, it would be fine tomorrow.

Maybe Fanny's wedding would put him in a better mood. Or maybe Miss Hale would.

She shook her head and left him to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: House-sitting! So bored! I'll write a new chapter! Mere is wonderful! I set the reception at the Lyceum (where Mr. Hale teaches) because there's room enough there for dancing (Yay!) and because it seems logical that, as magistrate, John would have access to it.**

**I will not spill red wine on my keyboard. I will not spill red wine on my keyboard.**

**Disclaimer: So very not mine.**

Chapter Five

The ceremony had been beautiful, Mrs. Thornton thought. Fanny had never looked lovelier and Watson looked as if he'd been given the stars. He was a good man and Mrs. Thornton had great faith that her daughter would be happy in her marriage. Now if she could find the same thing for John. But the mill—

John would have to wait. They were all in a state of limbo. If they got a new investor, all would be well. Otherwise… well, at least Fanny was taken care of.

She looked over at her son, exiting the church with Miss Hale on his arm. God help them all if he got his heart broken again.

The ceremony had been interminable, John thought. All he'd been able to think of since he first saw Margaret that morning was how much he was looking forward to dancing with her. He hadn't heard a thing the clergyman had said, he'd been so caught thinking of how she'd feel in his arms, and how she'd look gazing up at him through those ridiculously long lashes.

He'd have to dance a few dances with others for proprieties sake, but he meant to dance with Margaret for as many as he decently could. The gossip-mongers could go hang for today.

She turned from her father and wrapped her hand around John's arm. He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her. He didn't seem to notice the hitch in her breath.

Margaret had been grateful she'd been sitting down when she'd first seen Mr. Thornton that morning. If she'd been standing, she would have had to sit down. She had been right about the blue waistcoat and cravat. They _were_ the same color as his eyes and they made her knees go weak as a new foal at the sight of him. He had taken her on his arm and had barely let go of her since, not that she objected in the slightest.

She wanted to dance with him more than she wanted her next breath.

Thank God the ceremony was over and they could move on to the Lyceum for the reception.

Every head in the room turned as Miss Hale entered on Mr. Thornton's arm. The men had somehow never before noticed quite how lovely she was and the women, well, they weren't nearly as charitable as the men. The women wondered how on earth she had managed to capture Mr. Thornton's eye when they had failed so utterly at drawing his attention.

Fanny Watson briefly thought that more people should be looking at her, as it was _her_ wedding day. She glared at Miss Hale on her brother's arm and turned back to her new husband.

Anne Latimer shook her head at herself. She had been a fool to think that she could catch John Thornton. It was quite obvious to her that his heart belonged to the beauty on his arm. Perhaps she could get a last dance with him, though.

John turned to Margaret. "Miss Hale, might I have this dance?"

"Mr. Thornton, I would be delighted."

He took her gloved hand in his and led her to the floor. John's warm hand came around her waist and Margaret's settled on his shoulder. Margaret had been to many balls over the years, in London and Helstone, she had danced with many men, but when Mr. Thornton's hand slid onto her waist, it was unlike anything that had come before. Even Henry Lennox had never made her feel this exhilarated when they danced.

John had waited so long to have her in his arms and now that he had her there, it was more than he could have dreamt. Margaret was somehow light and strong at the same time and her waist was impossibly dainty under his hand.

Both Margaret and John tried to memorize every tiny little detail, so they could recall it for further thought later.

The sounds of the waltz began and Mr. Thornton expertly led Margaret through the other couples.

A small smile crossed her lips and John said, "What amuses you so, Miss Hale?"

"I don't think it's ever occurred to me that you might dance, Mr. Thornton. I don't mean to give offense at all, I just think of you surrounded by cotton fluff and ledgers rather than on a dance floor."

"Please, do not worry yourself. I took no offence. You're quite right, my opportunities for dancing are few and far between, so I always enjoy it when they arise. I was taught to dance at school, before… well, before."

"I must say, you do it quite well, sir."

"Thank you, Miss Hale. I'm glad that we northerners do something to impress a London girl."

Margaret quickly looked at him to see if he was teasing her, but the cheeky smile on his face told a different story. She grinned at him.

Mr. Bell watched as Margaret and Thornton slid gracefully around the dance floor. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think that was a smile on Thornton's face. They made quite the striking couple. Two dark heads bowed together, talking of something that was making both smile. Margaret's pale green dress complemented the pale blue of Thornton's cravat and waistcoat. They clearly held great affection for each other. Mr. Bell would expect a proposal if he didn't know of the state of Marlborough Mills finances. Margaret looked as if nothing in the world would make her happier. Perhaps there was something that could be done. He needed to talk to Latimer.

Margaret and John went for a cup of punch as the song ended.

"I believe I'll sit this one out, Mr. Thornton. I'm quite tired."

John guided her to a chair. "I'm not sure I believe that, Miss Hale."

"Well, perhaps not; but I'd like a small break, all the same."

"As you wish. I'll take the chance to ask Miss Latimer to dance then."

Margaret saw the propriety in the idea, but her jaw still clenched.

John turned back to her. "I'll be back for the next, though, so get your rest while you can."

Somewhat appeased, Margaret watched him go.

"Miss Latimer, would you do me the honor of a dance?"

"Of course, Mr. Thornton." It was high time for her to find out if her fears had any foundation.

John took Anne in his arms as the song began.

"You're looking lovely this evening, Miss Latimer."

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton, but I'm sure I don't look half as nice as Miss Hale. She's quite the belle of the ball tonight."

His face softened and Anne's heart plummeted. Her suspicions were confirmed.

"I… um… hadn't noticed."

She looked him directly in the eye. "Yes, you had."

He flushed with chagrin. "I'm sorry, Miss Latimer, that was unworthy. I should not have denied it. I apologize."

She threw him a forgiving smile. "I wish you every happiness with her, Mr. Thornton."

"Oh… I don't… I—"

"_When_ it happens, not _if_."

"Thank you, Miss Latimer. We'll see."

As the song came to an end, they amicably parted ways and John crossed back to the loveliest woman in the room—who wasn't the bride.

"You two looked very nice together." Margaret said.

"Hmm…"

"You said you were going to dance with me again, Mr. Thornton. Have you changed your mind?"

A wicked grin shot her way as he held out a hand and helped her to her feet. "I hope your brief respite did you wonders, Miss Hale, for you're going to need all your strength for this next dance."

Margaret returned his wicked grin with interest. "Is that a promise, Mr. Thornton?"

"You tell me." He tugged her onto the dance floor and proceeded to prove his point.

It was very late indeed when Mr. Thornton's carriage pulled up outside Crampton. Mr. Hale had gone home hours before, but both Margaret and John hadn't wanted the evening to end.

Mr. Thornton helped Miss Hale down and led her up to the door.

"I had a wonderful time today, Mr. Thornton. I congratulate you on your sister's excellent match."

"Thank you, Miss Hale, and thank you for accompanying me today. I enjoyed your company immensely."

"And I yours. I've never enjoyed dancing so much."

"I'll bid you a good night then, Miss Hale." Instead of taking her hand and shaking it, in the usual fashion, he raised her soft hand to his lips and let them linger for the briefest of moments.

Margaret's heart leaped into a gallop as he raised his eyes to meet hers.

She cleared her throat. "Good night, Mr. Thornton."

Both stood, staring, a little longer, wanting desperately to say more—to say what was in their hearts and knowing they couldn't.

Finally, John turned and stepped back into the carriage. He tipped his hat as he shut the door and Margaret watched his silhouette in the back window as he drove back to Marlborough Mills.

She raised her hand up to her own lips and dreamed of what it would be like to have him kiss her lips instead of her hand. On a sigh, Margaret took herself to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I am SO sorry this chapter has taken so long! I'd explain, but ugh. Suffice it to say, real life intervened and created any number of irritating delays. Apologies.**

**This chapter was written under the influence of Benadryl and a good deal of snot.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

**Chapter Six**

Mr. Hale was on his way to Oxford for a reunion of his old class mates and Margaret was left on her own at Crampton, with only Dixon and her thoughts to keep her company. She walked about Milton a good deal and spent quite a bit of time helping Mary at the Marlborough Mills kitchen, all the while hoping to catch a glimpse, or more than a glimpse, of the mill's Master.

They passed each other at the mill gate one day, and it took Margaret's shout of "Mr. Thornton," before he raised his head from the cobblestones at his feet and saw her.

"Miss Hale! I'm so sorry. I was caught up in my thoughts."

"Not at all, Mr. Thornton."

"How do you find the kitchen today?"

"Flourishing, sir. Mary's cooked up a batch of shepherd's pie for today. You should go have some."

"I might at that. And how is your father enjoying Oxford?"

"Quite well, thank you. I had a letter from him just yesterday."

"Since you are on your own, would you care to join me and my mother for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I would enjoy that very much indeed. I thank you."

"Think nothing of it," he said with a brilliant smile. "Shall we say eight?"

"Eight it is."

He tipped his hat and continued on into the mill, well-pleased.

Margaret tried to calm her stuttering heart and moved on to do her marketing.

"Miss Hale, I'm so pleased you could join us." Mrs. Thornton was determined to be congenial to Miss Hale this evening, if only for her son's sake.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Thornton."

"You must be missing your father."

"I am, but it helps to know that he's enjoying himself with his old friends. He was so looking forward to the trip, that I wouldn't have stopped him for the world."

Understanding well the desire to see family members happy, Mrs. Thornton gave the young woman a rare smile.

Mr. Thornton chose that moment to enter the sitting room, just as his mother was going to check on the status of dinner. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Hale. One of the looms broke down and Higgins and I had to get it up and running again."

"I quite understand, Mr. Thornton. So Nicholas is proving useful?"

"The man is a godsend. I must thank you for sending him to me."

"I knew you two would work well together, given half a chance."

"Well, you were right? What is it?" She was looking at him with the strangest look in her eye.

"You've got grease on your cheek, Mr. Thornton."

John Thornton actually blushed as he pulled out his handkerchief and proceeded to wipe at the wrong side of his face.

"Actually—it's the other…."

He switched cheeks and still managed to miss the spot.

She held out a hand. "May I?"

John's heart started to pound a lively rhythm. He relinquished the square of cotton.

Margaret stepped into his personal space, causing John to think he'd have to make sure he got grease on his face more often, if this was how it was to be cleaned off.

She raised a delicate hand and stroked the cloth over the smear of black on his cheekbone. She couldn't help but notice that his eyes were a darker blue than she'd ever seen before and his breath on her cheek was soft and smelled faintly of the Earl Grey he'd been drinking. Even after the last of the mark was gone, her thumb moved unconsciously over the contours of his face, his slight stubble rasping against her fingers, the handkerchief forgotten.

His hand came up to catch hers. He held it's warmth against his cheek. "Margaret," he breathed and leaned in to her.

Her breath caught and her eyes fluttered closed. He was so close. She could feel the breath that was formerly on her cheek, whisper across her open and waiting lips.

John thought then that she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. His hand that wasn't holding hers came up to tip her face to the proper angle. He could already taste her.

"John, the cook says—oh!" Mrs. Thornton swept back into the room and stopped dead at the sight of her son and the former-preacher's daughter.

Instantly, John and Margaret were a good three feet apart and both were red as beets, looking at anything but each other.

"I had some loom grease on my cheek that Miss Hale was kindly helping me remove, Mother."

Mrs. Thornton simply cleared her throat and said, "Dinner is ready."

The dinner that followed was remarkably amiable for the tense moment that preceded it. All three spoke of literature and Milton and cotton and history. They ate good food and drank good wine and enjoyed each other's company thoroughly.

Mrs. Thornton decided that she had harshly judged Miss Hale when they had first met. She now knew the young woman to be passionate in her opinions, but willing to listen to what other's had to say as well. The young woman had changed since coming to Milton and for the better in her opinion.

Margaret, who had never been very close to her mother, and had not had particularly riveting conversations with her aunt or her cousin, was thrilled to be in the presence and discussion of an intelligent, capable woman. The harshness Margaret had assumed when they first met was now seen to be the determination of a woman helping her son run a mill in a world where men dominated and brooked no opposition. She was formidable.

John watched two of his favorite women throw ideas around the table with relish. They were magnificent together and, he thought, could become great friends, given some time.

All things pass, as they say, and this dinner was no different. The end of the evening found Mr. Thornton offering to escort Miss Hale back to Crampton. He tucked her arm neatly under his and donned his top hat as they took to the streets.

Both were silent as they walked, happy to merely enjoy the presence of the other.

They stepped onto the porch and John reluctantly released Margaret's arm.

"Thank you for dinner, Mr. Thornton. You must allow us to reciprocate when my father returns from Oxford."

"It was our pleasure, Miss Hale, and we'd be very glad to accept." He tipped his hat. "I'll bid you good night now."

"Good night…" She waited until she thought he was out of earshot to add, "John."

He smiled and kept walking. Despite the noise of the looms every day, he had excellent hearing.

The next day came Mr. Bell and the news that broke one of the few remnants of Margaret's hope.

Her father had died. This was bad enough in itself, but the realization that she could no longer stay in Milton was like a fist squeezing her throat and stealing her breath. Aunt Shaw would come and insist Margaret go back to Harley Street with her.

She was numb. She was lost.

Mr. Bell brought her tea and coaxed her into drinking some.

"I'm so sorry, my dear."

She gazed into his kind eyes.

"Thank you. I—I must write to my aunt."

"I already have. I wanted to remove that burden from your shoulders, if I could."

"Thank you. I—I don't know what to do."

"If you'll allow it, I'd like to stay here and help you. We'll figure out what to do together."

She smiled at him in sheer relief. "Yes."

"Excellent."

"Oh! I must go and tell Mr. Thornton! He was so fond of Father."

Mr. Bell caught the first sign of life he'd seen in Margaret's eyes since he gave her the news.

"Of course, my dear. Would you like me to come with you?"

Margaret shook her head. "No. I want to give him the news myself."

"Very well. While you go to Marlborough Mills, I would like to visit Mr. Latimer."

Mr. Thornton was not at the mill when Margaret got there, but she met Nicholas and gave him her news.

"Dead?"

"I'm afraid so, Nicholas. It was in his sleep."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Margaret. He was a good man."

"Thank you, Nicholas. Would you be willing to tell Mr. Thornton? I need to be getting back to Crampton."

"Of course, miss."

Mr. Bell found Thornton with Mr. Latimer.

"Ah, Thornton, good. I have some unpleasant news for you, I'm afraid."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bell. What kind of unpleasant news?"

"I'm afraid that Mr. Hale has died."  
"Died?" John went white and slumped into a chair.

"In his sleep, while in Oxford. I came to Milton to tell Miss Hale and help her settle his affairs."

Mr. Bell watched the flash of pain wash over the younger man's face. "She'll go to London?"

"Yes, her aunt is on her way here now."

Thornton lowered his head to his hands. Mr. Latimer looked on, with interest.

Mr. Bell continued, "I don't mean to interrupt, but if you're done with Latimer, Thornton, I need to have a word with him."

John rose. "Of course." He paused. "Is there anything I can do to help Miss Hale?"

"She might need some help with disposing of Hale's possessions."

"Of course. Please let me know what I can do."

"I will." He watched the mill owner leave and thought of something infinitely more useful that could be done. He would start the ball rolling with Latimer right now.

"Mr. Latimer, you are aware of the recent speculation and how well that turned out for everyone involved?"

"Indeed, I do, sir."

"There is an… investment I should like to make with my share of the profits. I need you to tell me if it will prove… effective."

Aunt Shaw had finally come and wanted to remove Margaret to London without delay.

Margaret insisted that there were friends she needed to say good bye to.

Aunt Shaw tried to dismiss them, out of hand, but Margaret simply ignored her. It was a trick she had learned in Milton.

They took the carriage to Marlborough Mills and Margaret thought how much accustomed she'd gotten to the sooty walls and the fluffs of cotton constantly floating on the air currents. It would be a wrench to leave it… and it's owner.

Mrs. Thornton was found in her sitting room. Margaret thanked her kindly for her friendship and lively conversation. Hannah watched with dread as her son appeared behind Miss Hale. She didn't want him to have to bear this parting.

Margaret turned and crossed to the tall man.

"Mr. Thornton, I presume you've heard my news."

He nodded. "Margaret… I'm so sorry."

Hearing her name on his lips was nearly her undoing.

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton."

"You are going then?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I must."

"And never to come back."

She raised her head to meet his stormy blue eyes.

"I hope not forever. I will miss it here."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

She offered the book in her hands.

"I brought you Father's Plato. I thought you might like to have it."

"I will treasure it…. I will miss our conversations, Miss Hale."

Her eyes prickled with unshed tears. "As will I."

Aunt Shaw stepped up to Margaret's shoulder. "We should be going, Margaret. We must get you to London as soon as possible and back to civilization."

Only someone who was looking closely would have caught John's slight flinch at her words, so Margaret did.

"I bid you farewell, Mr. Thornton… for now."

"Goodbye, Miss Hale." He took her hand in his and raised it, shakily, to his lips. John could feel his heart shattering in his chest, but could do nothing to prevent it. If he only had the money to stabilize the mill, he would propose to her this very minute and never let her leave his sight again. Instead, he was sending her off to London and, he imagined, into the waiting arms of Henry Lennox.

He watched in despair as Margaret turned and walked out the door. His feet carried him out after her, to watch as the carriage bore her through the snow and away to the more temperate south.

John Thornton could stand losing his mill, if he must, but losing Margaret Hale might just be his end.


	7. Chapter 7

**Never Doubt I Love**

**Author's Note: So many lovely reviews! More thanks to those who have followed and favorite! I'm so flattered and touched. My beta Mere is still wonderful. Raise a cup of Earl Grey to her.**

**Disclaimer: Oh, if they were mine… but they're not.**

Chapter Seven

Margaret was gone. John had woken up at his desk… again and had needed a walk. His feet had unconsciously carried him to Crampton.

He stood in what had been the sitting room and remembered all the good times he'd spent there with Mr. Hale. Mr. Hale who had been more of a father to him than his own had ever been. John missed his would-be father every day. He missed their conversations and their lively debates.

His feet carried him down. John could imagine Margaret in the kitchen, making tea, her forehead damp from the heat of the fire and the steam of the kettle. He missed her most of all, her arm through his, her eyes meeting his, her lips open and waiting for his.

He shook his head. She had been gone for a week and he was moping around like a lovesick child. This was helping no one. He should be back at work. Latimer said that Bell would be visiting him this morning.

Mr. Thornton's head glanced up the stairs and, for a moment, he felt the urge to unravel the mystery of which bedroom had been Margaret's. _'That way madness lies_,' he thought and left the past behind him… at least physically.

Mr. Bell knocked on Thornton's office door. At the owner's "Come," he pushed it open.

John's dark head rose from his ledgers and met the eyes of the elderly man across from him. "Mr. Bell, how are you today?"

"As well as can be expected. I hear that I'll be looking for a new tenant before long."

A flash of pain passed over the Master's face before he schooled it once more into his regular, stoic expression. "Yes, I'm afraid that's true."

Mr. Bell just nodded.

John ran a hand over his stubble-covered jaw. "How is Miss Hale doing in London?"

"She has been established in Harley Street with her aunt and cousin. She is, of course, still mourning her father."

"Of course. Well, when next you see her, please send her my best wishes."

"I will. I'm sure she would have sent hers, but she didn't know I was coming to see you."

"And why are you come to see me, Mr. Bell? You don't need a new tenant _quite _yet."

Mr. Bell held up a placating hand. "You mistake me, Mr. Thornton. I came because I have a question for you."

Mr. Thornton merely raised an eloquent eyebrow.

"If you found the investor you so sorely need, what would you do?"

John scowled at the question. "Do? I'd keep running the mill, like I always have. What else would I do?"

"Indeed. What _else_ would you do?"

"Mr. Bell, I am quite tired, in more ways than one, and have neither the time nor the inclination to talk riddles with you. I beg you, please speak plain."

"I'm sorry, Thornton, you must forgive my dramatic tendencies. It undoubtedly comes from reading too much Shakespeare at Oxford. What I mean is that—may I speak openly?"

"Please do."

"I made a good deal of money from a recent speculation," John's scowl redoubled, "and, given your history, I perfectly understand your hesitation in joining it yourself. But I am willing to invest that money in Marlborough Mills—"

John leapt to his feet.

"—on one condition."

"I should have known there would be a caveat," John sighed.

"Yes, but I believe you'll find this stipulation to be of a… pleasant sort."

"Really?"

Mr. Bell smiled. "Mmm, yes. My one request is that you… tend to Miss Hale."

"Tend to her?"

"Quite. I am leaving for South America next week and I shan't be returning. I plan on leaving the bulk of my properties and moneys to Miss Hale, but I want someone to keep an eye on her and make sure she is well."

John's mind was doing any number of rapid calculations. With Bell's money, Margaret would be a wealthy woman. With the profits from the speculation, he wouldn't have to close the mill and, best of all, he could pursue Margaret seriously. Ah, but would she want him? Once she knew she was an heiress, would she not want to stay in London with her family? Would she possibly want to return to the smoke and soot of Milton to be the wife of a hard-working mill owner, rather than staying in the leisurely and peaceful south? If he had asked that question when she first arrived, he knew what her answer would have been, but now…?

He simply said, "I see."

"Yes, I see that you do. And would you be open to such a plan?"

"Do you think _she_ would be open to such a plan?"

"From what I have witnessed, yes, I believe she would."

John's mouth quirked into the tiniest smile.

"Then, yes, I would agree to your plan."

"Wonderful! I'll have Latimer transfer the money at once."

"And I need to pack a bag."

Mr. Bell stood and crossed to the door with a smile on his face. "You might think of shaving, as well."

Hannah Thornton looked up from her sewing as her son came home hours earlier than she had expected.

"John, what on earth are you doing?"

An almost manic gleam lit her son's blue eyes. "Mr. Bell came to see me, Mother. He has invested in the mill. We won't have to close."

"Thank God for that. But that doesn't have you looking like this. What is it?"

"I'm going to London, Mother, to ask Miss Hale to marry me."

Hannah had seen them together and thought this logical, but she'd thought that once before as well and had been mistaken. "Are you quite sure, John?"

He stood tall and firm. "Yes, Mother."

She nodded. "Very well. Do you intend to go today?"

"Yes. At once." He ran his hand over his chin again. "I must shave and change my shirt first, though. I don't want to prove that I'm the big, rough fellow she once thought me to be."

His mother smiled. "You do look a little unkempt, but you never know, Miss Hale might like that."

John met Nicholas just as he was leaving to catch his train. "Ah, Higgins, good news. We've had a new investor, so we'll not be closing the mill."

"Well, that's good news, sir, and no mistaking." Higgins eyed the travelling case in John's hand. "Off on holiday now that the mill is safe again?"

They had known each other long enough now that this sort of teasing was fairly commonplace between the men. Thornton smiled. "I'm going to London… to see Miss Hale."

Higgins' grin was like the sun through Milton smoke, vivid and brilliant. "Are you now?"

Thornton's eyes narrowed at the other man's shrewd tone. "Yes."

All he replied with was, "Good. Go bring her home."

Margaret Hale was lost.

It had only been a week, for pity's sake. She should give herself some time. She could adjust to life without her father, life in London, life away from Milton, away from Nicholas and Mary and…. All right, maybe not.

Edith and her Aunt Shaw were everything attentive, but Margaret seemed to only want time to herself. She did spend some time with Sholto, of course, but not even the baby could raise her spirits.

Black bombazine itched something fierce. She had thought so after her mother's death too.

London had once been a happy place for her. When had that changed? Since she was in mourning, she couldn't do many of the activities so particular to London society and so she walked. She walked in the many parks of the city and thought how dissimilar it was to a town far to the north.

The accents of Londoners sounded odd in ears used to the lilt of the Milton tongue.

On this afternoon, she found herself sitting at the sitting room window, simply watching people go by.

Henry was expected for dinner that evening, much to Margaret's chagrin. Since her return to London, Henry had renewed his previous notice of her and it made her uncomfortable. Edith had cornered her about it the night before.

Margaret remembered….

"My dear Margaret, Henry could barely keep his eyes off you this evening."

Margaret turned from brushing her hair. "What?"

"Henry couldn't stop staring at you. Didn't you notice?"

"Oh, um… no, I didn't."

"My dear, I know you miss your father dearly, of course we all do, but—"

"This… melancholy… has nothing to do with mourning my father."

"Oh?"

"I know had badly you want me to marry Henry, but I can't Edith. I just can't. I—"

"Yes?"

"I fell in love while I was in Milton."

"Did you now? Oh, we haven't been able to gossip like this since I fell in love with the Captain! Tell me all about him, dear one."

Margaret smiled. "His name is John Thornton and he runs one of the cotton mills in Milton. He was at the Exhibition that day."

"Hmm…"

"I know your disdain for so-called 'tradesmen,' Edith, but if you could just meet him you'd see what an incredible man he is. Despite an abbreviated childhood, he works very hard and constantly looks to better himself. He read with my father quite a bit to further his education. He's very tall, with dark hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Oh, Edith, I could lose myself in them."

"It sounds like you did." She said, with a smile. "Well, I'm sorry for Henry, but very happy for you."

Margaret's face fell. "His business is in some trouble, trying to recover from the strike. I don't think he'll pursue me. Not again."

"Again?"

And Margaret told her all of the details of the History of Margaret Hale and John Thornton.

Margaret was brought back to the present by Henry Lennox coming up the stairs.

He was presently admitted to the sitting room and greeted Margaret with a smile.

"You're looking well today, Margaret."

"Thank you, Henry."

Silence descended for a few minutes until Henry could help himself no longer and said, "Are you enjoying being back at Harley Street, Margaret?"

"Yes. I'm enjoying seeing Edith and Aunt Shaw again. And the captain and Sholto, as well, of course."

"And me?"

"Oh, yes, Henry, I always enjoy seeing you."

"Margaret, since we are alone for the moment, there's something I wish to ask you."

"Oh, Henry, I—"

"Would you consider marrying me, Margaret?"

"Oh!"

Edith passed through the foyer just then and saw the maid admitting a very tall, dashing man.

"Ma'am, this is a Mr. Thornton who has come looking for Miss Hale. I was about to show him in to the sitting room."

"Mr. Thornton, did you say?" she said, taking a _much_ closer look at him.

"Yes, madam. I am John Thornton of Milton. I'm so sorry to arrive unannounced and uninvited, but—"

"Not at all, sir. Any friend of Margaret's is a friend of mine. I am Edith Lennox, Margaret's cousin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thornton. I'll take you right in."

John smiled at her and Edith thought, _Well done, Margaret!_

"Oh!"

"Please, Margaret, if you marry me, I'll take care of you and you'll never want for anything."

"Henry, I'm so sorry, but I can't marry you. If I did, I _would_ want for something and that wouldn't be fair to either one of us."

Henry simply looked confused.

The door opened then and admitted Edith and—Mr. Thornton!

Edith smiled at Margaret's stunned face. "Margaret, dear, Mr. Thornton has come to call on you. Hello, Henry, you're looking a bit peaky. Are you quite all right?"

Henry visibly pulled himself together on seeing Mr. Thornton. "Yes, Edith, I'm fine."

Neither noticed that Margaret and John only had eyes for each other.

"Mr. Thornton," Margaret smiled at him, "I'm surprised to see you in London."

"I'm surprised to find myself here." His voice sent warmth through her chest.

"Might I enquire as to the purpose of your visit?" Her long-ingrained manners were the only thing keeping her from rushing over to him.

_Think, Thornton! Quick! What sounds plausible? _"I came to see a new investor." _Excellent! And has the benefit of being true… in a way._

"A new investor! That's wonderful! Does that mean you won't have to close the mill after all?" Her face beamed and he wished that the other two might leave, so he could _properly_ talk to her.

As if she had read his thoughts, Edith chose that moment to say, "Henry, the captain has a new book he very much wants you to see." She threaded her arm through his to maneuver him to the door. Edith knew enough of the human heart to suspect why Mr. Thornton had, so unexpectedly, shown up on their doorstep. Henry tried to protest, but his words fell on deaf ears, and soon the two were gone.

Mr. Thornton turned back to Margaret. "Yes, Marlborough Mills will be able to stay open."

"I'm so happy for you. Does Nicholas know?"

"Yes, he caught me as I was coming to catch my train."

"Good… good."

Silence filled the room once more, but now there was a taste of anticipation to it.

"Miss Hale, there is another reason I came to London." John crossed to her and took her hand in his, as he had so often done before. "I wanted to do this before you left Milton, but with the mill in the state it was, I didn't feel that it was right. Now, though, I may speak my mind. When I proposed to you after the riot—"

"Oh, please don't speak of that day, Mr. Thornton. I was so abominable to you."

"No, you weren't. You were just… doing your best in an uncomfortable situation. You may have misunderstood my motivations, but given the situation, I can hardly blame you. I eventually realized that. I took my broken heart out on you with anger and I apologize for that. We've come to know each other since then, don't you think?"

"Yes."

"And we've come to be friends, yes?"

"Indeed."

"Margaret, might not we be even more than that to each other?" John paused. "It would be the greatest honor to be able to call you my wife. Would you ever consider it? Would you consider returning to smoky Milton and cotton-filled Marlborough Mills and making a life with me there?" His look was so ardent, so open, and so filled with love that Margaret could hardly breathe.

"I have considered that and would consider that. In fact, I think it would be the best thing in the world to be able to call you husband."

John swung her into his arms and around in circles until both were dizzy, from spinning or from happiness neither knew. When he finally settled her down on her feet again, he raised a hesitant and trembling hand to her cheek and ran his thumb over her silken lips.

"I believe this is the kind of agreement that should be sealed with a kiss."

"Yes, I believe I read that somewhere."

"Plato, perhaps?"

"Hmm… I think not. Maybe Shakespeare."

"Sounds like him. Cheeky bloke."

"Weren't you going to kiss me?"

And he did.

**No worries. There is still more to come. **


End file.
